Mechanisms
by Bozeia
Summary: Twelve aspects of an Evil Boy Genius, put into rusted words and incomplete thoughts. [drabble series]
1. Delusion

**Challenge/Prompt:**_ Response to the 12!Fics challenge at livejournal; Delusion (One of Twelve)  
_**Fandom:** _Xiaolin Showdown  
_**Character(s):** _Jack Spicer  
_**Rating:**_ Rated T, for minor adult themes.  
_**Genre(s):** _General; Implied Angst  
_**Warning(s):** _N/A  
_**Word Count:** _634_

**Disclaimer:** _Xiaolin Showdown © WB/Christy Hui. I did make up the characterization for the non-existent Mrs. Spicer though._

**Summary:**_ Dinner in the Spicer household. Basically._

- - - - -

It was a long table, draped in white lace cloth and adorned with lit candles and three place settings. Six forks, three spoons and knifes, two plates beset with the dinner of that evening. The third place setting sat empty at one end of the table across from Mrs. Spicer, while her son sat at her right hand side. She had perfect manners, dabbing her lips lightly and chewing small bites at leisure. He simply ate quietly, almost humble in her presence.

She sipped at her champagne, before setting the glass a little too close to the table's edge. "So how was your day, sweetie?"

He studied her for a moment as he swallowed his last bite, before speaking. "Same as always—" here she gave him a look that asked for more than just that, "—I, uh, just worked in the basement. Y'know, robots and all."

She nodded simply. "Of course, dear."

He bit his lip, cocking his head slightly. "You know what else I've been up to lately?"

"What?"

"Well, you see, it started with this squid-like purple ghost witch that came out of the puzzle box dad sent me a while back."

"...Oh really?"

He nodded. "She told me about these magical artifacts called Shen Gong Wu. Been led on a wild goose chase and since I've had to face off against kung-fu fighting monk warriors with mystical elemental powers. Eventually met up with an evil lizard-warrior overlord and a talking chili bean too."

She looked at him through tipsy eyes, and began to giggle in motherly humor. That giggle grew, louder, and became laughter like ringing bells. "Oh, Jackie...a _chili bean? _What's next?"

He shrugged non-commitably. "Mom you are aware I'm evil, right? I'm going to rule world someday, y'know."

She couldn't contain herself. Her head hung back in mirthful laughter, her breathe hitching for intake. She shook her head, unable to stop smiling so broadly at her son. He only smiled wanly at her in return. He did seem to notice, though, as she swung her elbow too loosely and knocked her champagne to the floor. It was left for the Jack-bots to clean up.

_- - -_

_All are lunatics but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher._

**-- Ambrose Pierce**

* * *

**Additional Author's Notes:** _For the record, I think Xiaolin Showdown is an okay show. Somewhat outlandish humor, but pretty standard as far as kids' shows go. Jack Spicer on the other hand? OMFG ISH MADE OF AWESOME SAUCE. SAUCESOME, LIKE SETH OF MANA THEATER WOULD SAY._

_Since Jack Spicer is such a character that just begs to be fleshed out (read: like a song that got stuck in your head) I've decided to take him to the next level of fan fic goodness and went ahead and applied for a livejournal challenge. These writings will range from short drabbles to really long one-shots, all inspired by the list of prompts I am required to write from. Now, all I need to do otherwise is mind my other ongoing fics while I'm at it. Except that I don't juggle well. Ahem._

_The end quote was borrowed from an old favorite Invader Zim fan fiction of mine. Mostly, I thought it was rather fitting. In reality I don't know quite so much about Mr. Pierce, but I'm guessing he was pretty awesome._

_Hoped you enjoyed it!_


	2. Appointment

**Set/Theme:** _Set #2 (substitution); Appointment (Two if Twelve)_  
**Rating: **_Rated T, for coarse language._  
**Genre(s):** _General. Somewhat actiony._  
**Warning(s):** _Uh…the F-bomb is dropped, and the lord's name used in vain.  
_**Word Count:** _2285_

**Disclaimer:** _Xiaolin Showdown_ © WB/Christy Hui.

**Summary:** _Mad dash up a stairway. Round and round you go, where you stop nobody knows…_

- - - - -

He ducked into a cranny, pushing his back against a heavy doorway. It pitched backwards slowly on creaky hinges as he slipped through to the emergency stairway. He eased it shut as quietly as he could, before turning to take stock of where he stood. He looked, looked far _up. _He had to hang his head back on his shoulders, looking up at the immense length of consecutive steps curling up in a rectangular order.

_Aw, hell. _

He bit the inside of his cheek, rationalizing to himself that perhaps only five or so levels up wouldn't be _that _far. Might as well start counting, he mused. _One… _

The heavy heel of his boot clacked more soundly upon that sliver of a step than he would've liked, resounding in a single hollow echo. The young Spicer heir reflected that, if he had truly wanted to be so _ninja stealthy,_ forgoing his usual for something more light-footed probably would've been a good idea. Too bad he hadn't really anticipated himself, but what could be done? He wasn't about to waste time being too god-awful worried about it right now. He had stairs to climb. _Two…three…four… _

Not that anyone particular knew where he was of course. Hopefully.

He made steady progress, stopping once only one level up from his entrance to take advantage of the view from the windows; two square apertures symmetrical from each other. From what he could see, glancing upwards, similar pairs dotted every other level. Light caught him in the eye, making him squint slightly as he noticed the broken remnants of glass glisten. It was an interesting effect as shadows and spots of light flitted over cemented walls and floors. A pretty sight, in the confines of an empty superstructure. Jack found it to be ironic.

Aside from that, the estimated position of the sun indicated that the windows were facing out in a south-east direction. Knowing this he turned the corner and put his foot on the next step, wasting no more thought on the windows. He sprinted the rest of the way up the stairway.

_Round and round we go, where we'll stop nobody knows!_ He held to sarcasm, actually biting out a laugh at that as he continued to push a mildly accelerating pace upwards in rectangles. _Right, I'm doing fine. No one will find me. Not that I'm even sure what the hell I'm doing here to begin with. Except maybe that this was the closest and most convenient getaway. _

At this thought, there came a rush all its own that took hold of him. He climbed, making it in tighter and tighter turns. Faster, as if to outrun himself all the way up. He could be very agile when he needed to be, he knew. So on and on he went, counting the stories as he passed them by and not quite making it up to five. He pivoted and saw before him a bolt-locked emergency exit tucked away in the corner, complete with security keypad.

He sped, he tripped—

There, he practically fell upon it with a blunt _thud_.

He leaned on its surface, a cold against his bare cheek that sobered him as the impromptu rush came to a halt. His breath came and went in deep, his own sense of control tentative. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, but after all this time he still had yet to accustom to such spontaneous adrenaline. Feeling the vigor still lingering in his chest, he supposed it was best to pause until he got it out of his system. He took a deep breath and shifted his weight against the surface he was propped against. The cold felt good, he realized.

His breathing evened out, and he felt coherent as he cooled down. He hadn't even been aware he was so overheated. _Shit, get a hold, _he thought, stepping back. Feeling discomforted he reached for his goggles and pulled them off, allowing the air to cool him where that sweaty black strap had been wrapped taut through his cherry red hair and over his forehead. He let them slide down his arm and dangle at his elbow as he ran both hands through his unruly mess. Was it just him, or was it beyond humid in here…?

He sighed, and fiddled for his pocket. Extricating a cut of plastic, he ran it down the slot in the keypad.

_ACCESS DENIED. _

Oh.

Oh, what joy. What wondrous joy.

A red light blinked spitefully at him, drawing forth muttered swears (including a few multilingual words indigenous to Asia) from him. _Of_ _course_ a discarded key card misplaced amongst old security tapes would get him only _so far._ He had the urge to ball his fist and smack that door a good one, but at the last moment forced restraint. All that would've given him was a couple of smarting knuckles, he knew. _Nothing left to do but hotwire, I guess. _

Being who he was he had never been one to leave home without a couple of tools on his belt, including a screwdriver and a pair of snippers. He had it opened like the snap of his fingers and smirked as he eyed the relatively dated array of wires coded in only three different colors. For him, a cake walk. _Worked up over nothing. Right. _

He descended the long tip of his driver into the mess, trying to focus completely on this simple task. He was counting the multiples of colors, calculating their inner directories in his head, as a breeze pushed bangs over his eyes. A minor annoyance, he flippantly ran his hand over his forehead in order to flatten his red mane back. A stronger breeze that came through only ruined his efforts.

One moment ago the air had been nearly still. Damn it all, he couldn't even trust to _breathe._

It was only a light breeze so perhaps it was just him, but there were no windows on his particular floor. He put a hand up to brush away his hair, as he went to bend over the banister and look down all those stories of stairs. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least, not that he could see. Maybe he was too paranoid for his own good, not that he could help it though…

_"Hey, where'd you get to Jack-o?" _

Jack flew back wildly, darting eyes wide and incredulous. A voice carried by wind, from nowhere yet reverberating everywhere off the walls. _Wha…what_ _the hell? _

The whinge of rubber shoe soles scrapping against concrete echoed up and throughout the stairway, coming in rhythmic timing with each higher perch. With the ease of a grasshopper, the lithe form of a white hoodie and green sweats flew into view, landing neatly upon the flat of the level just below. Hands dug deep into the pockets, posture aligned but relaxed. "Jack-o, you _home?"_

_Raimundo Pedrosa. _

The red-headed genius slammed himself back to the door, digging his driver in deep and skimming through the wires hastily.He weeded them out two by two; all the while footsteps echoed coming up, the breeze steadily whipping strands into Jack's eyes. Precarious seconds ticked by in flustered indecisiveness, whereas ordinarily he might've already hacked his way through minutes ago. Minutes, sometimes they drew on longer than an eternity in Jack's opinion.

At last he found the two he was searching for. _Right, just switch them around and direct the electrical current towards the opposite reception. Then cut the red one…or is it the green? _

He decided red—his favorite color hadn't failed him yet—and gave a silent whoop of joy as the door swung lifelessly open. He flipped the lid shut and bolted through, pulling the door with him in order to shut it back up tight. Nerves frayed, he chanced an eye around. Dimly lit, most probably former office space. Torn down cubicles, overturned desks, and broken-in monitors were dispersed all out and around the area of faded carpet squarely surrounded by cracked drywall.

Jack gave into the distention; he dropped his pack to the ground and fell back, leaning upon the exit and sighing deeply. Until, that is, the heavy steel against his back spontaneously rattled on its hinges, startling a wary and weary boy genius who jumped a mile and half into the air. "Ah,_ GOD!!!" _

Blunt thudding resounded hollowly, vibrating through the solid surface. Someone was pounding a fist. "Hey! Hey there! You in 'ere?"

Jack slowly back away from the door, saying nothing and praying to whatever deities he could think of that the Brazilian wouldn't figure out that the door was unlocked. He watched the shadow at the bottom crack shift its weight from left to right, before diminishing as retreating footsteps signified the figure walking away. Before long, the air was still and quiet. Jack could breathe again. "Oh, thank you God. Thanks a bunch."

Ha ha, sarcasm. Ha ha.

Good. Now all he needed to do was find an open window and fly out like a cheery little liberated jail bird, straight into the heart of Chinatown no less. He'd be gone in plain sight amongst the crowds. _Probably be a good idea to wait awhile though, incase the airhead's still hanging around. _

With that in mind Jack finally let himself relax, falling back and sliding down to the floor. He let his head bump against the wall, and groaned. He was achy all over. Damn the stairs. He almost wanted to doze off then and there. He closed his eyes and…

_"Hey, where'd you get to Jack-o?" _

His brow creased, eyelids clenched. That had been almost too surreal to swallow. The kid with all the aptitude of the winds had a knack for being more slippery and ghostlike than, well, real live hazy apparitions in purple. But that had been awhile ago…hadn't it? Honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. The more time past, the more it all seemed to be illusion.

He opened his eyes just as the sun started to peak out of the clouds. Light filtered in through clear as crystal glass, the panes still perfectly aligned across the entire length of the room. Idly, Jack turned his eyes towards his long morning shadow drawn diagonally over the wall. He held up a hand and mimicked a rabbit, then a duck. He waved it back and forth, watching his shadow move with it. Boredom, it seemed, was inescapable.

Despite boredom, it certainly didn't escape Jack's notice when a _second_ bodily shadow moved across the wall and grew to block his light.

Realization was a bitch.

_Oh, HELL no._

In an instant it had all come down, like a waterfall of shining fragments bursting through as a body savagely broke in and landed solidly on two legs atop a desk. Surrounding pieces of office décor were flown wildly out of place as a result of the blusterous inertia, adding even more to the chains of cause and effect property damage. Not that anyone had apparently cared enough about the aforementioned abandoned property.

Jack's eyes were clenched shut, arms flown up to protect his face and torso from flying glass. In an instant the calamity died down to a breeze, like a feather-touch against his ivory skin, what little of it that was uncovered. He almost craved to feel the burn of laceration but, as he lowered his guard, he was astounded to find that every single glass shard flown in his general direction had _missed _by mere fractions, creating an odd v-like gap in the wall where no jagged pieces had been indentured.

Jack blinked, acutely aware of the hot beads of sweat dripping down his temple. "Jeezus fuggin' _Christ."_

The Brazilian grinned, crouching down and peering at the lanky form curled up against the wall. "Do 'ya think that was worthy enough for the cinemas?"

"…Oh, _fuck you_ Pedrosa." The resident neurotic in the room was not pleased, "Why didn't you just use the door?"

"Because I didn't?" Raimundo only shrugged at that. "Sorry if 'ya soiled yourself. Now, how about some of that ice cream? You're treat, so we're all waiting for you."

Oh, now why in all the hells would he, Jack Spicer, want to do that? Oh, that's right, because he said he _might. _Damn you stairs, damn you various entities of the winds, damn you hot fudge sundaes, damn _all_ you supernatural forces bent on making life one big miserably dangling cat toy to the cats. Damn you all.

- - -

_Never explain—your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway. _

**-- Elbert Hubbard **

* * *

**Additional Author's Notes: **_This took forever. Never mind the ceaseless interruptions throughout the last two days. Originally quite dark, it seemed I just couldn't make myself like this no matter what I did. So I mangled it and made it slightly more…lighthearted. Also, Raimundo. And that kickass entrance (left over from that angsty-wangsty first draft). Watch the glass shatter again and again! Wheee! _

_Not like that first drabble of course. Just wanted to clarify that the first drabble was just me poking fun at the show in general. But this, this is me torturing poor Jack. Oh Jack. _

_Quote was pulled randomly from www dot quotationspage dot com. I love how there's a website for this stuff. XD_


	3. Innocence

**Set/Theme:** _Set #2 (Substitution); Innocence (Three of Twelve)  
_**Rating:** _Rated T, for slightly dark themes.  
_**Genre(s):** _Character-sketch; vaguely angst-flavored  
_**Warning(s):** _Slightly dark.  
_**Word Count:** _984_

**Disclaimer:** _Xiaolin Showdown_ © WB/Christy Hui.

**Summary:** _He already knows all the answers to the questions he asks, as he fingers the ring in the palm of his hand._

- - - - -

He fingered the ring, smooth beneath calloused fingers. He rolled it around on his thumb, slipped it on and off is ring-finger several times. Its weight was minimal yet heavy. It was a tangible object, a small tangible object that fit snug in the crook of his palm. Yet, he had begun to suspect, it was driving him to the brink of madness. Although, he reasoned, the ring by itself should be harmless enough. It caused him to wonder if it was actually _he_ who wreaked his own inner turmoil.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Whatever the case, and no matter how one cut it, split-personalities were rarely a healthy sign of mental security.

So, he wondered what would happen were he to choose one disposition over the other. He had the option of obtaining a life that would quickly settle into normalcy. He could be the vision of the perfect son, bright and cordial. A spring in his step, eyes shining, and dressed snappy—when wasn't he ever? But that aside, security was within his reach should he choose and he knew it would be enough to eventually put his wanderlust at an end. Just like that, the strife that he knew would be quickly extinguished in the blink of eye; It would be liberation, in a sense, but he would never be content. It seemed more like an easy way out.

Then, there was the darker course of action. Draw his own Innocence out and kill it cold. He could choke it, cut it down, incinerate it, make it suffer as it died. He could be rid of it and progress unhindered towards the means to his ends. It had been what he'd craved for so long, ambitions borne and real and present for as long as he could remember. Except that his own insecurities, his own fumblingly reluctant Innocencemade him falter, made mistakes knowingly before they even happened.

He might've been surer about killing his Innocence if certain others hadn't unwittingly appealed to it.

If only he, if only they all, could've just disregarded Innocence's existence. Then, maybe, it wouldn't have come on as strongly as it did. Maybe he could've been able to ignore it so completely that he wouldn't be bothered by such insecurity. If he could've ignored it, maybe his insecurity never would've emerged as it did. But then, he wouldn't be stuck with this problem to begin with. He could've avoided this little problem altogether if he hadn't let his Innocence get in the way. It and it alone gave him doubts about cutting loose from naivety, and maddeningly enough he wouldn't have doubts about anything at all if such notions hadn't been so prominent. It was almost inescapable, unless he was to go through with it and put an end to it all.

He murmured and there before him stood the faintly opaque apparition, his mirror-image twin. "I could kill you, and no one could call it murder."

_No, _the apparition flickered as it mouthed it's reply silently, _No one could call it murder, but I'd call it suicide. _

Jack blinked, unbelieving that his Better Half had actually said that, being that his sprightly little duplicate was normally so benign and childlike. The first thing that occurred to him after the initial shock had worn off was the thought that self-preservation was maybe more prevalent than he had originally thought. Which meant that this evanescent boy before him might've been more _spilt _from him than a mere split-personality. Of course then, he realized, that his Better Half hadn't actually meant those words. He'd heard his thoughts and only his thoughts.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

_You already told yourself all the answers, remember? _

He glanced down at his hand and let in a breath as he realized the ring was still sitting neatly in his palm. He quickly lifted his gaze upwards only the find the apparition gone, leaving him unsure if the ring really had so much influence regardless of whether or not he wore it. Maybe he did wreak his own inner turmoil, needlessly so.

In the end he put the Ring of the Nine Dragons—and the Monkey Staff, the only other of his last two Shen Gong Wu—away. His Better Half and Innocence were unrelated, as it turned out. After all he didn't exactly have Innocence anymore, he realized, if he could think like that.

- - -

_Without an acquaintance with the rules of propriety, it is impossible for the character to be established. _

**-- Confucius**

* * *

**Additional Author's Notes: **_There's more monologue than actual dialogue in there, even if Good!Jack is separate from Jack in some ways. In other ways, they're still alike. So of course Good!Jack could comprehend everything that makes and motivates himself._

_This oneshot is actually almost too serious for Jack's personality. At least, that's the thought that hit me after I went through it again upon completion. But, hey, it's essentially about naivety and innocence and the question of whether or not this Jack might still have it. For all you know this version of Jack could be a handful of years older, maybe slightly wiser. Or he could be hardly a day past the series finale. The former is more likely given that I mentioned that he has only two Shen Gong Wu left; in actuality he only had one Shen Gong Wu left at the end of the series. Just a minor detail I wish to clarify that, yes, I did that on purpose. He he._


End file.
